


Waste Not.

by BarPurple



Series: Long Pork and Cigars [1]
Category: Ravenous (1999), The Legend of Barney Thomson (2015)
Genre: Assault, Attempted Murder, Cannibalism, Gen, Humor, I Blame Tumblr, Murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-12
Updated: 2016-09-12
Packaged: 2018-08-14 17:14:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8022346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BarPurple/pseuds/BarPurple
Summary: A very old cannibal meets a rather old serial killer, some might say it's a match made in hell.





	Waste Not.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [beastlycheese](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beastlycheese/gifts).



> This sprung from a Tumblr chat with beastlycheese, so this crazy is partly their fault.

Ives survived the bear trap. It was a close run thing, but General Slauson helped a great deal. Boyd did not survive, to this day the man’s morality puzzled Ives, mostly he believed it was a lack of survival instinct; Boyd simply did not have what it took to make it in the dog eat, well man eat man world.

Sierra Nevada had been entertaining, but after a few decades Ives had gotten itchy feet and wanted to travel further afield. He had covered the length and breadth of the country he had witnessed grow from infancy, but still he was restless. Finally an article in the newspaper caught his eye and sparked the whim for him to cross the Atlantic again. He returned to Scotland to find the little village he’d been born in had been absorbed into the city of Glasgow. If there was anything left of the place he only faintly remembered he could not see it, but for all its newness Glasgow felt comfortable so he stayed for a while.

The hunger was ever present. Over the many years he had perfected killing, it was no longer a blood soaked messy affair, unless circumstance had forced him to leave too long between feeding, but he would tip the hat fashion no longer required him to wear to a mistress of the craft; the coarse and crass whore he met when he answered a personal ad in the local paper. 

She’d welcomed him into her home and offered him a drink before putting a plastic bag over his head and whacking him on the head with a bat. The attack barely stung, but he’d toppled over from shock anyway, it had been such a long time since he’d misjudged someone so badly. His hand whipped out as she moved past him, he caught her ankle and flipped her on to her back. The stream of heavily accented profanity she unleashed made him laugh as he tore the bag from his face.

“The mouth on you woman, you’re making an honest god-fearing man blush.”

She snorted at him; “There’s nowt honest about ye, yer perverted bastard. Is this how ye get yer rocks off, beatin’ up poor defenseless ole ladies?”

As she spoke she’d edged closer to the fallen bat. Ives rolled his eyes and kicked it to the far side of the room. He made sure to stay out of her reach as he bent over her prone form and wagged his fingers at her.

“I think defenseless is a bit of a stretch, you did just try to kill me.”

She’d shuffled her way to the chair opposite the couch now, she gave him a calculated glare and a glimmer of an idea formed in Ives’ mind. He seated himself onto the couch and took a moment to really look at the woman in front of him. He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he pointed a finger at her.

“I’m not your first am I?” He rolled his shoulders in a shrug, “Certainly not the first to solicit your charms, such as they are, but I’m also not the first client you’ve done away with am I?”

“Havne done away with ya, have I? Ya’re still flappin’ yer gums ain’t ye?”

He chuckled and dipped his slightly aching head in agreement. She heaved herself from the floor and dropped into the armchair with an exaggerated groan. Ives tensed slightly as she rummaged down the side of the chair. The tension drained from him as she produced a battered packet of cigarettes.

“Wanna fag?”

“I have my own, thank you.”

He rose and offered her a light from his match when her lighter failed to co-operate. There was a long quiet moment as they both savoured their tobacco. It struck him that they made a rather friendly tableau. The idea had him smiling around his cigar.

“What de ye think yer smirkin’ at?”

Ives took a long slow drag on his cigar, the simple pleasure of being able to do that without choking on his own blood had never faded. The look of annoyance on his would-be killer’s face only added to his enjoyment.

“I’m marveling at the twist of fate that has brought us together. You see I came here with every intention of sating my…hunger.”

She gave him a shrewd look.

“Ye arene talkin’ aboot fuckin’ are ye?”

“Ah, no, my hunger for the flesh is more direct than that.”

He’d anticipated shock, or revulsion, instead she gave him a curt nod and stood up. He jerked back in case she was planning a futile attack, but she clucked at him and said; “Calm yerself. I got somethin’ I think ye mabbe very interested in.”

His eyes never left her as she made her way to the tiny kitchen, he wouldn’t put it past this harridan to be retrieving something more lethal than a baseball bat, not that it would be much of an inconvenience to him, but he was rather fond of this suit. When she reappeared in the doorway holding a neatly wrapped arm and leg he threw his head back and laughed.

“I knew you’d done this before, but I never suspected you ate the bodies.”

She tossed the arm at him. Ives caught it easily, it wasn’t an attack just her way of chastising him.

“I’m nay fuckin’ cannibal, laddie, but the freezer is gettin’ full and waste not want not. Ye’ll be savin’ me a wee fortune on postage if ye’ll take some o’these.”

Ives licked his lips, momentarily distracted by the neat little label on the wrapped arm. This was possibly the strangest situation he’d ever found himself in, and to be frank that was saying something. He looked up to find her watching him closely as she sucked on her cigarette. He removed his cigar from between his teeth and flicked the ash into a nearby ashtray. Even frozen he could smell the intoxication scent of the blood in the arm that he held.

“I do believe my dear that we could come to a mutually beneficial arrangement.”

“Aye, thought ye might say that. How de ye take yer scotch?”

“Neat as nature intended.”

As he’d predicted he formed a rather nice arrangement with Cemolina. Ives’ wanderlust kicked in again after a few months and he left Glasgow to tour the rest of the British Isles, but he kept an interested eye on the progress of the Body Parts Killer. He raised a glass to her when he read her obituary, and would confess to himself that the gulp of scotch was taken with a sigh of relief, he knew himself to be a monster and recognized that Cemolina had been worse in many ways.


End file.
